


a bloody impossible knitted winter pairing

by jemmasimmmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Happy Christmas everyone!, I have no idea what AU this is set in, but #TripLives because fuck you AOS writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/pseuds/jemmasimmmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, the door behind him flew open and Jemma bounced in, her eyes shining. Fitz's heart skipped a beat as he took her in: her jumper in all its snowy glory, her soft brown hair finally long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail and her cheeks glowing pink. Even dressed in the dorkiest Christmas jumper imaginable, she still managed to be insufferably cute and the most beautiful thing Fitz had ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a bloody impossible knitted winter pairing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everhtorne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everhtorne/gifts).



> Happy Christmas Eve everyone! This was written as a present for Josie (AO3 writer everhtorne, check out her stuff), after some frantic Christmas headcanoning a few days ago. I realise I started rambling somewhere about the midway mark and I haven't proof-read at all, but I wanted to get this up before Christmas and this was the only opportunity I had to do it in. Have a very Merry Christmas!!

Every family has traditions. Be they around holidays, mealtimes or the change of the season, every family has some special rituals or ceremonies that have to be conducted no matter what, although it is fair to say that some families have more than others. One family that certainly had more than its fair share of traditions was the household that Leopold Fitz grew up in, because if there was anything Fitz's mother loved more than superstitions, parables and folklore fables, it was traditions.

Fitz's childhood memories were peppered with all the little routines his mother insisted they carried out: on birthdays, they each made each other breakfast in bed, on the summer solstice, they sat in deck chairs watching as the last streaks of sunlight fade behind the hills, on days where he had gotten a particularly high grade at school, she would bring home a cherry bun from the bakery where she worked for his tea. Much as Fitz hated to admit it, it was probably his mother's tendency for traditions that had formulated his fixation on stability, his hatred for change. His entire childhood had been built on keeping things the same.

Christmas in the Fitz house was no exception to this rule. Traditions appeared in almost every memory Fitz had of Christmas, from baking gingerbread and mixing eggnog, tramping in the snow to church on Christmas Eve to decorating the tree with the delicate glass baubles his grandmother had had and the clay decorations Fitz had made himself. There was one of his mother's traditions, however, that Fitz had decided long ago that he could definitely live without.

 

 

 

'Dear God, it's hideous.'

Fitz stood in front of the mirror in his bunk, holding the jumper his mum had sent him up against his chest, his face twisted in disgust.

It was the 21st of December and the Playground was decked from floor to ceiling in full blown Christmas regalia. Skye had insisted on a real tree, handmade paper-chains and an afternoon with the whole team mucking in to help decorate.

'I've never had a family Christmas before,' she had declared, holding up a string of multi-coloured lights that were tangled together. 'So we're going to do this one _right_.' Fitz and the rest of the team had agreed to humour her: after all, what harm could come from glitter baubles and roast chestnuts?

That morning though, Skye had come bounding into the common room, her arms stuffed with brown paper parcels tied up with string, and dumped them on the table.

'There's stuff from May's mom,' she had said excitedly. 'She must have heard about our family Christmas. Look, there are chocolates, and I think there's a DVD. And Trip's family sent some tins of biscuits and...Fitz, isn't that your mom's writing?'

Fitz had snatched the parcel away from her before she could rip it open.

Ever since he could remember, Fitz's mother had knitted him a Christmas jumper. Every year, she used a a new pattern and every year (in Fitz's opinion) it was worse than the previous years had been. This year, the jumper was made from navy wool, but there was a white snowman standing in a snow flurry knitted onto the front, the snow stitched in fluffy arran wool spiked with silver thread. The snowman had a black top hat, a carrot nose and cross hatched eyes and there were tiny bunches of holly branches embroidered at the collar.

Jemma, who had been standing in his doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, rolled her eyes and moved over to flop down on his bed. As she sat down, she pulled the brown paper package the jumper had come out of onto her lap and began folding the wrapping. 'Oh, come on, Fitz, it's not _that_ bad.'

'Yes it is! I mean, for God's sake, it's at least two sizes too small. I haven't been this skinny since I was fifteen...'

'Um, Fitz, that's because you've got _my_ jumper.'

'No, it's not, it's...' Fitz pulled the jumper away from his body and peered at the back. Stitched onto the wool was a large red felt 'J'. 'Oh.'

He saw Jemma raise her eyebrows at him in the mirror and hold up the second jumper that Mrs Fitz had sent him. This one was also navy with snow, but in the place of a snowman there stood a grinning polar bear and a penguin. When she turned it around, there was a red felt 'L' on the back.

'Oh, bloody hell,' Fitz muttered, as Jemma tossed the 'L' jumper in his direction and he threw the 'J' one back to her. 'This one's even worse.'

'Oh, Fitz, that's hardly fair. Admittedly, a polar bear and penguin could never logically be seen in the same place in the wild, but the detailing at the top really is wonderful...'

'Jemma, please don't encourage her.'

The matching jumpers had started nine years ago, on the year that she had come back to Scotland for Christmas with him. It had been the year that Jemma's parents had separated and they had sat on the floor of her Academy dorm the night before Christmas holidays as she had whispered that she didn't feel she had a home to go back to that year. So, naturally, he had taken her to his instead.

Mrs Fitz had adored Jemma from the first moment she had set eyes on her. The second the two of them had stumbled through the Fitz's front door, Fitz's mother had fallen upon his friend and pulled her into her plump, vanilla scented arms for a hug and a kiss on the cheek, much to Jemma's surprise. But after that, the two had become firm friends and, on Christmas Eve, there had been two jumper-shaped parcels under the tree instead of just one.

Since that Christmas, no matter where they had been, Mrs Fitz had always sent them a jumper each, always in a matching pattern and always demanding a picture of the two of them in them. Jemma delighted at being included in their Christmas jumper tradition and took the picture very seriously, but the whole activity just made Fitz hugely embarrassed and uncomfortable. Especially now they were living with the team.

'We have had far worse than this,' Jemma reminded him. 'Remember the ones with _real_ holly on?'

Fitz groaned at the memory of the jumpers they had received three years previously. 'You were bleeding all over your Christmas dinner. Or what about the year she tried crocheting?'

'You started unravelling during the Queen's speech!' Jemma giggled, leaning back against the wall. 'So, really, I think we have gotten off lightly this year. No sharp objects. No danger of coming undone.'

'Yeah, but the guys are just going to laugh at us, though,' Fitz complained, turning back to the mirror.

'Fitz, they're our friends,' Jemma sighed. 'And anyway, it's Christmas! It's supposed to be a time of embarrassing jumpers and cheesy films and all those things.'

'None of them are going to be wearing a bloody impossible knitted winter pairing on their chests though,' Fitz muttered, balling his jumper up and throwing it onto a chair.

Behind him, Jemma rolled her eyes again and slid her legs to the side of the bed and hopped over it. 'You'll ring your mum to thank her, won't you?'

'Yeah, yeah.'

'Tell her hi and thank you from me.'

'Will do.'

'Oh, and tell her we'll send the Christmas picture on Christmas Eve.'

Fitz whirled around and stared at her.

'Wait, what? We're still doing that?'

Jemma gaped at him. 'Fitz! Of course we are! She's your _mother_.'

'Yeah, but that's not _my_ fault!'

But even as he said it, and Jemma gave him a look, Fitz knew that he was well and truly beaten. If he couldn't be with his mother at Christmas, the least he could do for her was let himself be photographed in her gift with his best friend.

'Oh, alright,' he sighed, and Jemma's face lit up in triumph as she bounded towards the door, her own jumper wrapped around her like a security blanket. 'But,' he called out to her just as she turned into the corridor,' I'm not leaving this room wearing it!'

Jemma gave him the sweet smile she always did just before she got exactly what she wanted from him. 'We'll see...'

 

 

 

Christmas Eve morning dawned crisp and frosty. Outside the windows, a thick layer of frost covered the ground, so much so that the entire base heard Hunter's yells as he slipped on a patch of black ice when collecting some milk in from the outside storage. In fact, Fitz thought glumly as he dressed, it was perfect jumper wearing weather.

He picked up his holiday jumper from the chair he had thrown it on three days before. Although he would never admit it to Jemma or to his mother, the jumper was remarkably well made. Compared to the very early ones of his childhood, this one could practically have been shop bought.

Suddenly, the door behind him flew open and Jemma bounced in, her eyes shining. Fitz's heart skipped a beat as he took her in: her jumper in all its snowy glory, her soft brown hair finally long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail and her cheeks glowing pink. Even dressed in the dorkiest Christmas jumper imaginable, she still managed to be insufferably cute and the most beautiful thing Fitz had ever seen.

Jemma seemed to notice his eyes on her because her cheeks coloured a little more and she tucked a non existent strand of hair back behind her ear. 'Happy Christmas, Fitz,' she half-whispered, still smiling broadly.

Fitz couldn't help himself but grin back at her. 'Happy Christmas, Jem,' he said softly.

For a few moments, they just looked at each other, the familiar bond spreading between them like the warm glow of a candle and Fitz watched as Jemma rubbed her hands together nervously in front of her. Then, she frowned.

'Fitz, why aren't you wearing your jumper yet?'

'Wha-?' Fitz glanced down and remembered that he was yet to put on his own festive attire. 'Oh. Yeah.'

Mentally kicking himself, Fitz shoved his arms into the sleeves of the jumper and tried to push it over his head. He encountered a problem, however, when he discovered that his mother, in her infinite wisdom, seemed to have thought his head had shrunk since she had seen him last and had made the head hole slightly too small for him to fit through. 'Oh, bloody hell-'

From somewhere outside of his jumper, Fitz heard Jemma laugh. 'Hold still,' her muffled voice commanded. 'Let me help...'

He felt her hands take hold of the material around his head and give a sharp tug downwards. As he emerged from his jumper, Fitz found himself practically nose to nose with Jemma, her large brown eyes lifted up towards him, a smile still lingering on her lips. It faltered as she seemed to realise how close they were, but she didn't step back and instead gently helped him pull the jumper down his body, smoothing out the wrinkles.

Fitz licked his lips anxiously. 'Thanks.'

'No problem,' Jemma said quietly, but her knee was jiggling up and down and she was still shaking her hands out impatiently. Fitz frowned.

'Jemma, did someone swap your tea for a double espresso this morning?'

Her nose scrunched up in confusion. 'No, of course not! Why would you think that?'

Fitz nodded towards her leg. 'You're jiffling.'

Jemma glanced down, as if she hadn't been aware she had been hopping about like she needed the loo since she had come into his bedroom, and opened and closed her mouth a few times. 'I just...' She tipped her head to one side and smiled at him. 'I guess I'm just really excited.'

Fitz's frown deepened as his suspicion grew. 'Okay, what are you up to?'

'Nothing!' Jemma's eyes widened as she tried to play the innocent, but failed miserably.

Fitz's eyes narrowed. 'Jemma...'

'Oh, darn,' she quipped, as she spun away from him and back over towards the door. 'I seem to have somehow left the camera down in the common room. How on earth could I have been so silly?'

'Jemma, you're a terrible liar,' he reminded her. 'And I told you before: there is no way I am leaving this room. No way. At all. Ever.'

She had paused, her hand on the door, one leg bent slightly forward, her head looking back over her shoulder at him. Something had fallen in her face, the pressurised excitement that had been there just seconds ago was diminishing and now she was biting her lip, doubt clouding her features. 'Fitz,' she whispered. 'Please?'

Fitz shut his eyes and, fleetingly, he saw the team's faces behind his eyelids: Trip and Hunter laughing behind their hands, Mack covering his eyes and shaking his head, Skye demanding to know where he had gotten such an atrocity. But then he pictured Jemma next to him and her hand in his and the feel of her hair tickling his chin as they took the picture. He sighed deeply.

'I am going no further than the common room, alright?'

'Absolutely!' The spark had returned to Jemma's face as she lit up, back at his side in the blink of an eye, and wrapped her fingers around his own. 'No further than the common room. Come on!'

Before Fitz had time to quite process what had happened, he found himself leaving his bunk and being propelled down the corridor at an alarming speed, Jemma's head bobbing along ahead of him.

They had gone no further than the shower cubicles when Jemma rounded a corner and stopped short, so abruptly, in fact, that Fitz ended up bumping into her back.

'Trip!' Jemma exclaimed, her voice rising a few octaves above her usual pitch. 'What a lovely surprise!'

Fitz stepped around her and got a good look at their friend; his jaw dropped before he could stop it. Standing in front of them was Antoine Triplett, the highly trained, highly skilful, resident specialist of their make shift team, wearing a bright pink jumper with a green Christmas tree stitched on the front, surrounded in sparkling stars. The jumper was so small on him that the sleeves barely passed his elbows and the bottom hem was gathered around his waist, unable to get any further down. He looked very, very uncomfortable.

'Jemma,' Trip smiled wanly at her, then nodded his chin over at Fitz, who managed to shut his mouth in time to nod back. 'Fitz.'

'So, um, I see you got your Christmas Eve gift, Trip.' Jemma was stumbling over her words now, the syllables spilling out of her mouth in her excited haze. Fitz could only stare.

'That I did.' Trip tugged at the wool of his jumper tentatively.

'So, do you like it?'

Trip froze in horror, and glanced up at Fitz from Jemma's expectant face, his eyes screaming at the other man for help. Fitz shrugged, a broad grin beginning on his face. Jemma, by his side, was smiling encouragingly at Trip, who looked as if he would rather be battling Hydra agents with his toothbrush than having this conversation.

'Agent Simmons,' Trip said slowly. 'I...' He trailed off, and Fitz saw his shoulders sag in defeat. Trip sighed, and his usual beaming smile returned to his face, slightly more forced than it normally would be.

'I absolutely love it,' he told her, and Fitz had to stifle a laugh as Jemma's chest puffed up with pride. She had time to give Trip another winning smile before grabbing back onto Fitz's hand and setting off down the corridor again at top speed. As they flew past Trip, Fitz glanced back just in time to see the specialist reach behind his neck to scratch at the itchy wool.

'Was that...?' he muttered, turning back to Jemma.

'Yours. From four years ago. I had forgotten how luminous the pink was; really, where did your mum even _find_ wool that colour?'

'Jemma,' Fitz said, in wonder. 'What have you-'

His thought was cut off, though, as the two of them walked in through the door to the common room and Fitz saw the rest of their team.

The common room was where the majority of the Christmas paraphernalia in the base was. The tree, so heavily decked out in lights and baubles and candy canes it seemed to sag, was propped up in a corner, a neat row of stockings was hung over the communications monitor in lieu of a fireplace and there were strings and strings of paper-chains draped across every available surface. In the words of Melinda May, it looked like an explosion in a Christmas factory. Today though, it was hard for Fitz to notice the decorations. His attention was firmly focused on the members of his team who were gathered in the common room – and the outrageous garments they were wearing.

'Oh, good!' Jemma exclaimed, dragging Fitz, whose legs had suddenly stopped functioning properly, further into the room. 'You all found your gifts as well!'

'It was kind of hard not to,' Skye said, hopping up to perch on the back of the couch. 'It was stuffed under my bunk door so I couldn't get out this morning.'

Skye was wearing the twin jumper to Trip's; blaring, bright pink wool with a plump, rosy cheeked Santa Claus knitted on the front. It fitted her far better than Trip's had fitted him and, actually, it suited her pretty well.

The same could not be said for Coulson and May, however. Coulson had put his jumper on over his suit; as a result, it bulged out in all the wrong places and was making his forehead glisten with sweat. His jumper was a deep russet red, with the word 'Merry' stitched across the front. May, standing on his right, was wearing the matching jumper that read 'Xmas' across it, which clashed horrifically with her black combat gear.

Bobbi and Mack were sitting on the couch, both of them shifting uncomfortably and tugging at their necklines. Their jumpers were bottle green with a fair-isle pattern at the top, Bobbi's with dancing reindeer, Mack's with red robins. Both jumpers were shockingly ill fitting and looked more like three quarter length garments than anything else. Hunter, standing behind them, was the only team member not to be wearing a jumper that had a pair; his was made of thick red wool with sprays of preserved holly stitched across it and he looked highly unamused.

'Uh, Simmons,' Coulson began, taking out a handkerchief to mop at his forehead. 'The gifts were a lovely gesture, but...well, the thing is...' He glanced up at Jemma's face, then turned to May helplessly.

'What Coulson is trying to say,' May continued, itching under her wrists. 'Is that we...we...'

'Yes?' Beside him, Jemma was looking up at her leaders with a wide eyed expression, but there was a touch of mischief glinting in her face that only Fitz seemed able to see.

May and Coulson looked at each other, then over at the rest of the team, then back to each other and sighed deeply. Fitz tried to hide his grin behind his hand.

'They're fantastic, Simmons,' Coulson said, a smile plastered on his face. 'Thank you.'

The delighted smirk on Jemma's face could have been enough to power a thousand Christmas trees.

'You've got to wear them all day, mind you,' Fitz interjected, now no longer bothering to hide his grin and revelling in his team-mates discomfort. 'It's tradition, y'know.'

Skye's eyes lit up excitedly. 'Cool! Our first Christmas tradition as a family!'

Next to her, Mack and Hunter groan audibly.

'I think my lungs are gonna give out, this sweater's squeezing so tight,' Fitz heard Mack confess.

'You think you've got problems?' Hunter hissed back to him. 'I can't even move without pricking myself on my own jumper! As if it wasn't enough that Hydra was out to get me, now my own clothes are turning on me!'

'You've got to suffer in order to be beautiful, Lance.'

'Bobbi, I swear to God...'

'Alright,' May broke into the brewing argument with impeccable timing as always. 'That's enough. Now come on, I need someone to help me stuff the damn turkey...'

Slowly, their team-mates began to disperse, drifting past Fitz and Jemma into the rest of the base to carry out their own festive chores. As they did, Fitz turned to Jemma in amazement.

'Where the hell did you find-'

'I kept them,' she interrupted him excitedly, before he had even finished the question. 'I know you thought we threw them out every year, but I always thought that seemed like such a _waste_ , especially after all the time and effort your mum always put into them, so...'

'Jemma,' Fitz said in astonishment. 'Are you telling me that you have kept all eighteen of our Christmas jumpers...and have been carrying them around on our super secret field missions for the past year?'

'They had their own storage compartment on the Bus,' she confessed. 'I never actually thought we would ever need them again, I just couldn't bear to throw them out, but you seemed so self-conscious about wearing yours this year that I just thought...' The words died in her throat and she bit her lower lip.

'You thought?' Fitz prompted her gently.

Jemma shrugged her shoulders slightly and held up her palms with a hesitant smile. 'I thought that maybe if the whole team had embarrassing Christmas jumpers then maybe you wouldn't feel so bad about it.' Her hands sagged back down to her sides and she looked up at him apprehensively. 'What do you think?'

Fitz shook his head in disbelief. Somehow, Jemma had managed to sneak their stash of homemade Christmas jumpers off the Bus, wrapped them and then distributed them around their team-mates in time for Christmas Eve, all to make him feel less embarrassed about wearing his own. Just thinking about it made Fitz's head spin and he felt like his chest was going to burst. She'd done it all for him.

'You're absolutely brilliant, d'you know that?' he told her, quietly. Colour spread through Jemma's cheeks like he'd flicked a switch and she ducked her head shyly, but not before he had seen the radiant smile on her face, which only made his own smile even wider.

'Oh! Skye!' Jemma blurted out suddenly, dashing across to grab their friend by the arm before she could sneak out of the room. 'We have to take a photo for Fitz's mum...would you mind?'

'Course not!' Skye took a hold of the tablet Jemma was holding out for her. 'Anything for Mama Fitz!'

'Please don't call her that,' Fitz muttered, as Jemma bounced back to his side and wrapped one arm around his waist. It was a familiar movement, but still the touch of her fingers made Fitz jump involuntarily. Inwardly, he cursed himself, as Jemma, having noticed his momentary disquiet, took a slight step back and loosened her touch on him.

From behind the tablet, Skye rolled her eyes. 'Oh, come on, you guys. Get closer! I have to be able to get you both in the picture.'

'The camera has a very wide frame, Skye...'

'Get closer.'

Jemma pursed her lips together and shuffled back into him, so that her shoulder was under his arm, which Fitz brought up to rest around her back. 'Sorry,' she whispered.

'S'alright,' Fitz whispered back, breathing in deeply as the scent of her shampoo tickled his nose.

Skye frowned, peering at the screen of the tablet with meticulous care.

'What's wrong now, Skye?'

'Yeah, the lighting's all wrong,' their friend announced. 'I can't even see your faces. See, this is what you get from building a super secret base underground! Crap lighting.'

'Try putting the flash on,' Fitz suggested. He could feel Jemma's breath on his neck.

'That wouldn't work either,' Skye declared. 'It would just make you look washed out and ill which is _not_ something your mom would want to see. Could you guys just move back a bit?'

Obediently, Fitz took a few steps back, Jemma following.

'That better?'

'Keep going.'

The two of them kept shuffling backwards, directed by Skye, who was making the arm movements a traffic director at an airport would. Jemma hadn't detangled her arm from his waist and, if it were possible, it felt like they were now even closer together than they had been before.

'Perfect!' Skye beamed at them eventually from behind the tablet. 'Perfect lighting!'

'At last,' Fitz muttered, and Jemma gave a snort into his chest.

'Okay,' Skye instructed, holding up the tablet. 'Keep together and...smile!'

Fitz plastered a wide grin on his face, imagining his mother opening up the picture and the happiness it would bring her. She had been so worried about him, about both of them, over the past year. Hopefully this picture would reassure her that they were okay, at least until he could spare the time to go back home and visit her properly. Without really thinking about it, Fitz squeezed the top of Jemma's shoulder gently. In return, she rested her head in the small space between his shoulder and his collarbone and a happy warmth spread through Fitz's body.

'That's great!' Skye exclaimed. 'I took like seven. You guys just look so cute and it's in the _perfect_ setting...'

For the second time that day, Fitz felt incredibly suspicious. 'Skye, what is it?'

'What do you mean?' Just as Jemma had done, Skye widened her eyes and shook her head. 'Nothing!' But then her expression cracked and she grinned, before inclining her eyes upwards. 'Just...look up.'

In sync, Fitz and Jemma followed her eyeline up above their heads and froze. Skye had directed them into taking a picture directly underneath a large branch of mistletoe, tied at the top with a gold ribbon. Fitz's mouth ran dry and he whirled back around to Skye, but she was already gone, zipping across the common room at top speed, tossing the tablet onto the couch and sprinting off down the corridor, presumably out of fear that they would come screeching after her. As it turned out though, Fitz couldn't actually move.

Jemma's hand had gone slack on his middle and her arm snaked back down to her side as she stepped slightly in front of him so that they were facing each other. He could see the freckles at the side of her nose, and the tiny scar on her chin she had gotten from the Academy ski trip, when she had come off her skis and landed upside down in the snow. Their faces were so close together, their noses were practically touching. Fitz could feel his blood pulsating through his veins so hard he thought it might burst through his skin.

'I suppose it's a tradition...' Jemma began.

'We don't have to...' Fitz said at exactly the same time, and they both cut off from whatever they had been saying, awkwardly.

'What I meant to say is,' Fitz continued anxiously, when Jemma nodded her head to show him she was listening. 'Is that, um, just because it's a tradition doesn't mean that we have to, uh, y'know, and anyway traditions are made to be broken, and I sound like you now what with the babbling but what I _really_ meant to say is, you don't have to...'

'Fitz.'

'Yeah?'

And just like that, Jemma crossed the slight distance that had been kept between them and suddenly Fitz was kissing his best friend in the world. Jemma's lips were soft and slightly sticky with strawberry tasting lipbalm, and her mouth tasted like toothpaste, and the feel of her lips on his was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt. It was a light kiss, not going any further than their lips and lasting only seconds, but when Jemma pulled away, her eyes briefly shut and Fitz put his hand up to his lips and brushed over them, feeling the lip balm residue on his skin, with a delighted shiver running down his spine.

'I...um...I don't mind,' was all she said.

'Okay,' Fitz whispered, shock still registering in his brain as he tried to process what had just happened.

'It is tradition, after all.'

'It's a...yeah.'

'It's a nice tradition.'

'Very nice, yeah.'

'Could do it again sometime.'

'Could...'

Had he heard her right? He glanced up swiftly and saw that Jemma was still looking at him, half hopeful, half shy and she was swaying back and forth on one leg expectantly. Fitz swallowed nervously, then nodded, rubbing his chin. 'Yeah. Yeah, me too.'

Jemma exhaled slowly. 'Okay, then,' she said, rubbing her hands in front of her anxiously.

'Okay,' Fitz repeated.

'Right!' Jemma seemed to snap herself out of whatever daze she had been in and clapped her hands together. 'I will, um, go see if they need help stuffing the turkey. I know May's looked up how to do it online, but you can never be sure about whether the information is accurate so...' Their eyes met and Jemma trailed off leaving the sentence unfinished and her mouth seemed to hang open for a moment before she closed it. 'I'll, um, see you later then.' She turned away from him, her hair swinging over her shoulder.

Pausing only to hear a tiny voice in the back of his mind tell him that this was a terrible idea (and promptly telling it to shut the hell up), Fitz started to follow her.

'Jemma, wait,' he said, reaching out for her hand. She turned back towards him and before Fitz knew quite what he was doing, his hands came up to cup her face and he was kissing her again. A small electric spark passed between their faces as he pressed his lips to hers and Fitz closed his eyes.

This time, it was Jemma who was caught off guard and she stumbled backwards slightly in surprise at his touch. But then her body surged forward and she started kissing him back, her arms coming up to loop behind his neck and her hands running through his hair. His confidence now growing, Fitz moved one of his hands down to her waist and pulled her in closer so that their bodies were pressed up against one another like they were two whirring cogs in a machine, working perfectly in tune with the other. It felt shockingly familiar for something that had never happened before. In fact, Fitz thought, it felt like coming home.

Eventually, breathlessly, they came apart. Fitz didn't know who had broken the kiss first and, quite frankly, he didn't really care. He had just kissed Jemma Simmons. And it had been the best thing he had ever done.

'We weren't under the mistletoe this time,' Jemma murmured. Their hands were laced together, their fingers twining over the other ones like cats cradle.

Carefully, Fitz dropped his head so that it was pressed against her forehead. 'That's okay,' he said, softly. 'Traditions are made to be broken, right?'

'You're just saying that because you don't want to wear your jumper anymore,' she teased.

'What, and miss out on seeing Hunter try and eat while wearing his?' Jemma giggled, and a spark of courage bloomed in Fitz's chest. 'All I'm saying,' he began carefully, his heart thumping against his chest. 'Is that kissing should not be restricted to being carried out just under mistletoe.'

'Oh?' Jemma's face tilted up towards his and she raised an eyebrow.

'Yeah,' Fitz grinned. 'It could also be done in the middle of the common room, in the garage, in the lab...'

Jemma chuckled and gave his chest a gentle push. 'Oh, could it?'

'Absolutely,' Fitz told her, dead seriously. 'We could make it our own tradition.'

Jemma smiled; it was a smile Fitz had seen grace her face umpteen times, it was the smile she gave to him when he had done something especially smart, or funny, or caring. Over the years, Fitz had come to think of it as _his_ smile.

'We'll see,' she told him, and, to Fitz, it was a promise.

From somewhere far off in the base, there was a muffled explosion, followed swiftly by the hiss of a fire extinguisher and the frantic beeping of the fire alarm, along with a chorus of yells and curses. Fitz winced, and watched as Jemma's face twisted in worry.

'I don't think we'll be having turkey this year,' she said decidedly.

'I suppose not,' Fitz agreed, a little dolefully.

'Do you think the Chinese takeaway would deliver?'

Her expression was so serious as she considered the probability of the prospect that Fitz laughed out loud, and reached out for her hand again. 'A new tradition, eh?' he said.

Jemma nodded, and squeezed his hand with a smile. 'A new tradition,' she repeated and when she turned to leave the room, Fitz, still holding her hand, happily followed after her.

 

 

 

By the end of the day, Fitz had made several decisions about traditions. First, that if they made people as happy as the picture he and Jemma had sent had made his mother, then he could suffer though a lifetimes worth of ugly Christmas jumpers. Second, that if watching his team-mates struggle to put out an accidentally flaming turkey while Skye barked out instructions from the safety of the kitchen table was going to happen every year, then he was always going to volunteer a Chinese takeaway instead.

But the most important decision Fitz made was that the special thing about traditions was not what they were, or when they were done, but who you carried them out with. And kissing Jemma Simmons? That was something Fitz would be willing to do any day of the year.

 


End file.
